


Some Small Sacrifice of Sanity

by thekingofcarrotflowers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, M/M, Necromancy, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofcarrotflowers/pseuds/thekingofcarrotflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Dorian jumps in front of a Necromancy spell aimed at Bull to save the man he loves from all the horrors and panic the spells causes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Small Sacrifice of Sanity

**Author's Note:**

> So, here I am, writing one-off stuff instead of working on the chapters of my other fics!  
> Anyways, hope you enjoy~
> 
> ALSO, big thank you to Iambic for the lovely art at the beginning of the fic. First fanart for my writing and gah, I'm so thrilled over it still.

artwork by [iambic](http://kilography.tumblr.com)

It’s unmistakably a Necromancy spell that the Venatori mage is conjuring, even before Dorian turns his eyes to the purple glow sparking from the man’s hands and staff. He’s all-too-familiar with the way the Fade shimmers differently when its Necromancy, the stench of death before he casts spells of his own, and it starts a panic in his chest before the spell even hits. The spellcaster has his eyes set on Bull, the man’s back turned away as he deals with a gladiator swinging relentlessly. Dorian’s own mana is nearly drained, the battle stretching on for too long, his barrage of powerful spells beginning to drain him as fire crackles in the air around him. Swiftly moving forward, Dorian sweeps his arm even as he steps between Bull and the rippling purple energy, a green glow washing over Bull in case Dorian’s unable to intercept the spell.

It’s too soon after the loss at Storm Coast, too soon after the horrors of Adamant to let the Bull be plagued with demons and visions of death. Enough times, Dorian’s had to comfort the man he once thought was an unwavering rock, murmuring in the darkness for hours to keep the Bull’s demons at bay. Dorian’s seen the madness in his victims’ eyes, heard their terrorized screaming, and doesn’t want that to happen to the Bull.

Instead, he lets it ripple through him. At first, it’s only a dull ache in his chest, a faraway whisper of threatening voices and curses. It builds, flashing behind his eyes, becoming painful and familiar. He chants a mantra to himself under his breath - he’s suffered through this spell before, when he was first learning them. Alexius insisted that to truly understand some forms of magic, one had to experience it firsthand. Blinking back tears and swallowing down bile building in the back of his throat, Dorian has enough time to engulf the spellcaster in a column of flames before the spell gains too much strength on him.

It’s unrelenting, swarming and bubbling in his chest. Nausea hits him in waves at the swarm of memories, at the overwhelming pain. He hears his father’s voice, the last time the spoke in Tevinter, the threat of blood magic on his lips, and pain blossoms across his chest. He hears Bull’s voice from a future that he’s trying to prevent, the echoing warble of red lyrium polluting his voice, and guilt washes over him. He hears all the cruel men, the quick fucks who spat on him and called him names, then the words warp into the Iron Bull’s voice and it’s too much.

Then, he’s on his knees, hands tangle in his hair as he grits against the screaming in his head. ‘It’s not real it’s not real _it’s not real_ ,’ he tries to assure himself, biting his tongue as he tries not to scream, tries to pull himself back to reality. It’s too late- the panic has already set in, and the world around him falls away to his fears.

Bull turns, just after slicing down the Venatori before him, tastes the tearing of ozone as magic is spilled forth from the Fade, sees the jarring purple spell rush over Dorian. He sees it happen, knows the sacrifice to his sanity that Dorian took to protect the warrior. It’s somehow worse than seeing him take an arrow to the shoulder or a blade across the chest, seeing him crumple and scream against the pain that’s all inside his head.It leaves Dorian exposed and vulnerable, frothing and writhing in the dirt, and Bull knows that Dorian is sparing him from a world of pain. There’s no burning deadnaughts smelling of gunpowder and heat, no empty, staring eyes of slaughtered children — but Dorian isn’t sparing him from this, seeing the one who means the most to him suffer through he pain that was meant to be his.

He has to leave him to writhe until the battle dies down, until Varric and the Inquisitor can handle the last of the enemy. The Venatori see Dorian as the weak spot now, sending arrows and spells and warriors his way, but Bull leaves the warriors splattered on the ground, taking the brunt of the arrows and spells to protect the crumpled man on the ground. As the fight ends, Dorian is still breathing heavily, doubled over. The edges of his sight are fuzzy as his vision filters between nightmare and reality, sometimes the two indistinguishable. He’s trying to sort through them, the pain and the doubt, stomach churning threateningly.

“Dorian,” Bull approaches cautiously, and the mage doesn’t stir from the spot on the ground. His forehead is pressed to the earth like he’s praying, once-manicured nails digging into the dirt, now broken and bloody.

It takes some effort for the Bull to kneel down, knees creaking and leg brace complaining at the effort. Slowly, he reaches out, feeling the magic rippling in the air around Dorian. When his fingers brush Dorian’s bare shoulder, the man jerks slightly and electricity sparks from Dorian’s body, across Bull’s skin. It hurts, stinging and burning as it travels up Bull’s forearm, and he sets his jaw against the pain.

“Dorian,” Bull insists, gritting as he forces his palm to press warmly and firmly against the shoulder.

“Bull…?” It’s a question as Dorian slowly turns his head, the electricity buzzing out. His eyes are wild and unfocused, a start contrast from the gleaming wit or the intense adoration Bull is used to seeing there. Tears streak down the mage’s cheeks, cutting through dirt and blood. Things still warp and hurt, Bull’s concerned face melting into something sinister, then something disapproving, then something bloodied and empty-eyed. With a hiss, Dorian squeezes his eyes shut, mumbling his mantra of _‘It’s not real_ ’ again.

“Kadan, it’ll be alright. I’m here,” Bull murmurs, rubbing delicately at his exposed skin. A shudder passes beneath his hand, and he keeps murmuring his reassurance.

It takes a long time for Dorian’s breathing to even out.Bull can feel the muscles of the mage’s shoulder slowly releax, hands unclenching from the dirt and grass.

Dorian draws in a long breath and pushes himself up to his knees, “I’m fine.”

Bull gives him a weak smile, leaning in to kiss his temple. His hand lingers on his shoulder, knowing that Dorian reall isn’t fine, but Dorian still manages to smile back and cup the side of Bull’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> I reside at http://thekingofcarrotflower.tumblr.com/


End file.
